Draco's Demon
by Ahmeni
Summary: Harry and Ron are waylaid by a mage who is investigating a demon summoning... A Harry Potter fanfic guest starring DC Comics' John Constantine.
1. Chapter 1

Draco's Demon.

Smack!

The trolley bounced off the wall as the young man with round spectacles attempted to pass through. As he lay in a heap on the floor between platforms 9 and 10, and his friend went to his aid, several people watched with raised eyebrows.

A man in a bowler hat, with a rolled umbrella under one arm and a newspaper under the other shook his head slowly. Kids these days… mad, the bally lot of them. A woman closeby looked mildly concerned, but was too staid and english to actually get involved. Perhaps they were on drugs, or worse. Maybe they were doing that silly american jackass thing. Both of them stared momentarily and looked away.

As the young redheaded boy helped his friend disentangle from the mess, another watched, with keen interest. This man was somehow different. He leaned against a pillar, some yards distant, and lit a cigarette. Several travellers nearby crinkled their noses and moved away. His long trenchcoat bore stains here and there, and his blond hair sat wildly atop his forehead, looking as if it wanted to be elsewhere.

But it was his piercing blue eyes that marked him as different. They stared with an intensity that belied the bemusement his body language suggested. He took a deep draw on his cigarette, and continued to watch as the boys got up, looked at their watches, and immediately ran off, somewhere unknown. Before they disappeared from the platform, he calmly stepped away from the pillar and followed them, at a distance.

Their conversation was lost in the bustle of the station… King's Cross at 11am was a busy place, and people milled here and there, rushing to and fro, talking and laughing over the regular announcements that blasted from the loudspeakers. He picked up his pace until he was a few yards behind, but he somehow managed to make it look as if he were hurrying for a train, rather than following the two young boys. They were too panicked to notice anything around them, but by nature, this man kept to himself. Long habit had trained his body to remain low-key. It had saved his life on more than one occasion.

Snatches of their conversation reached him, and his ears perked up as he heard some of the words. "Hogwarts express"… To anyone else, this would have meant nothing. But this man had heard the term before. He was just a few feet behind them as they raced from the entrance, into the parking lot. He slowed as they approached an old blue sedan, and began to load their luggage into the trunk.

Something about that car.

He could feel it. He stood, unnoticed yet, still a few feet away, and concentrated. The car. It contained magic. It shimmered like an aura around the vehicle, and the man silently gauged the type of magic. It was unfamiliar, and that was very strange. No magic was unfamiliar to this man. He thought he had seen it all, but, apparently, there was always more to learn.

As the boys entered the vehicle, the man knew he had to do something. This was too much of an opportunity to let pass. He strode forward, and as the ignition began to crank over, he placed his hand on the rail of the drivers door, and leaned his head into the open window. The redheaded boy jumped in fright. He clearly had no idea that anyone was even closeby, let alone taking an interest.

"'S a nice old car," he said, looking slightly bemused. "Tell me, what are two young lads like yourselves doing taking this old thing for a drive?" He looked at them appraisingly.

"Aren't you a little young for a driver's licence?"

Both of the boys looked at each other. The man registered their stress, but went on smiling his wry grin. The boy in the passenger seat spoke.

"We're in a hurry sir, and it's ok, he can drive fine." He looked like a cornered rat.

The man extended his hand into the car, open, to shake. The redheaded boy looked pensive, and shook the offered hand gingerly.

"I'm John. Nice to meet you both. Now… before you rush off to wherever it is you're going," he leaned in closer and lowered his voice, "I think we need to have a little talk…"

"I'm sorry sir, but we're in a terrible hurry…"

John lowered his voice further. "Hogwarts can wait." He said. "Lets talk about magic, shall we?"

The boys looked to each other once again, clearly flabbergasted. The redheaded driver looked scared. "Magic? I don't know what you're talking about…"

The dark haired passenger had turned very serious indeed. "What's Hogwarts?"

John smiled at them both. "You know, it's customary when one introduces themselves to someone, that they answer with their first names… Just polite, you know?" He raised an eyebrow, still grinning.

"Uh, Micheal, nice to meet you. This is…" the redheaded boy hesitated for a second. The dark haired passenger answered for himself. "Tony. Pleased to meet you. I'm sorry, but we don't know anything about magic or Hogwarts, and we are running very late for… an appointment. Must go!" He nudged 'Micheal' and whispered urgently "Lets go!"

"Micheal is it? And what was it?" John looked at the passenger.

"Uh… Tony." Said the dark haired boy.

"Right, Tony…" John grinned again. "You don't look at all like a Tony, I must say…"

His words were a distraction. As the boys hesitated once again, John opened the back door with a smooth, almost liquid motion, and stepped inside. Before they could react, he was sitting in the back seat.

Micheal looked at Tony, and they both turned their heads towards the intruder. Panic was settling on their features, but the dark haired boy looked resolved, and quite angry.

"Get out. Now."

John sat back and dropped his grin.

"No." he said simply.

Tony's face hardened, and he reached inside his jacket for something. "I'm sorry, John, but I'm afraid you've no choice." He pulled an ornate stick with a rounded handle from an inside pocket, and pointed it at John.

John laughed. "Nice," he said. "Won't work on me though, mate." He pointed to himself. "Demon blood. It has its ups and downs, but one thing it does is protect me from magic. Incantations anyway. Now why don't we start with your real names?"

The boy with the stick waved it, and muttered something. There was a small cracking sound, and the stick he held split in half, lengthways. He looked incredulous, and stared at the two pieces of wood. Then back to John. "Oh no…" he muttered softly…

"Told you it wouldn't work," said John. "Looks like it was a nice one, too. Shame, that." He leaned forward a little, staring the dark haired boy down. "I can smell lies, me. Your names… I'll know if you lie again, and I'd be worried about trying any more magic if I were you."

The boys looked at each other miserably. The redhead spoke first.

"Ron," he said softly. "I'm Ron Weasley." He looked like he wanted to say something else, but his mouth sprang shut, seemingly of its own accord. The dark haired boy looked both angry and hurt, and he almost spat the words out.

"Harry Potter. Ok? You know our names now, and you broke my wand. What do you want from us?"

John looked at the pair, one to the other, and smiled.

"A lift." He said.

Harry groaned. Ron looked nothing more than helpless.

"We can't," said Harry. "Really, we must go, right now… we've missed the train…"

"Harry Potter," said John, settling back. "I do believe I've heard that name somewhere before. Funny things, names… They hold a good deal of power. Have they taught you that at Hogwarts yet? Nevermind. No relation to Lily then?"

Harry's mouth snapped shut. He said nothing.

John scrutinised the boy for a long moment. "You look a bit like her… well, not really, but the eyes. Windows to the soul, sport. I heard a rumour that she'd died. Never found out if it's true or not."

Harry whispered. "Yes. It's true. She was my mother."

John looked genuinely upset. He touched the boy's shoulder gently. "I'm sorry mate. That was insensitive. I knew your mum. A long time ago."

"I never knew her," said Harry miserably. His eyebrow raised suddenly. "You're saying you knew Lily Potter?"

John looked left and right quickly. "Uh yeah. Like I said, it was a long time ago. It doesn't matter."

"How do you know about Hogwarts?" interjected Ron. "Are you a wizard?"

John laughed. "I know about a lot of things I really shouldn't. No, not a wizard, as such. Let's just say I take an interest."

"Listen," said Harry. Suddenly, he had come to trust this man. He couldn't think why, but his instincts were keen, and he knew them to be correct. "We missed the train, and we really have to catch up with it. We can't give you a lift anywhere, because if we don't turn up for school…" he trailed off, wondering just what might happen if that came to pass.

"I missed the train too," said John. "I won't take you out of your way. I need to get to Hogwarts."

Ron screwed his face up a little. "Why?" he asked.

"Classified information Ron. Best you don't ask. Just trust me on this."

Ron looked sceptical, and seemed about to argue. Harry saw what was coming though, and held the broken pieces of his wand up for Ron to see.

"We have no choice. We have to take him." Harry looked at the split pieces of wood, and the corners of his mouth turned down. "I really needed this, you know…"

John howled with laughter suddenly, and shook his head. "You don't need anything but this, mate," he pointed at Harry's forehead.

"What, his scar?" said Ron, sounding genuinely perplexed.

Harry and John shared a look, and grinned.

"His mind, son. Lord, you are slow." John smiled at Ron. "Better get going eh? Give us that, Harry…" he held out his hand for the broken wand.

Harry shrugged and handed it over. It was useless now anyway. As Ron turned the engine over once again, John put the two pieces of the wand together, and clasped both hands around the item. His face lost expression, and small beads of sweat formed on his forehead. A strange yellow light began to glow from the broken pieces, and Harry thought he could smell ozone, just briefly.

Then it was over. John grinned again, and handed the wand back to Harry. It was as if it had never been broken.

As the car swung out of the lot, and the wheels left the ground, John looked out the window. "Nice!" he said. "Mind if I smoke?"

The boys looked pained.

"Good," said John, opening the window a crack. He lit a silk cut and sat back, lapsing into an easy silence.

"Well, here we go," said Ron. "Buckle up."

As London dropped away beneath them, Ron steered the car in the direction he thought they should be going. Harry watched King's Cross station shrink into the distance, and it seemed that worms grew from its belly, snaking in all directions.

"Which way is it?" he asked, sounding a little concerned.

"Ummm… it's one of those there I'm almost certain," replied Ron, pointing and sounding uncertain.

John tapped Ron on the shoulder, and pointed to the left. "See that smoke over there. That's it."

Harry looked and saw the train immediately, in the distance. The black shape was barely visible, but smoke was puffing from the chimney in a thick column, making it easy to see.

"Right," said Ron. "I knew it was that way…" The track wound in the opposite direction to where he had pointed before. He steered the car to the left and stepped on the accelerator. The car made a sound like an angry grunt, and shook a bit before it sped off towards the thick smoke.

Harry turned to John. "You have to tell us something, you know. I don't know why you need to go to Hogwarts, but we're going to have a hard time explaining you to Dumbledore…"

John screwed up one side of his face, chewing on what he might say to that.

"Alright. There's been talk of a meeting, that's scheduled to take place… soon. For one reason or another, I'd like to be there. Just call it a hunch."

"Between who?" asked Ron.

"I'm not sure yet. Anyway, you won't have to tell Dumbledore. Land me somewhere close and I'll make my own way. Dumbledore and the rest of them should never know I was there."

"Here, look at that then…" said Ron. He pointed towards the train. They were gaining rapidly… too rapidly, but there was something weird about it. The smoke hung in the air like a still picture. The train too…

Harry looked around, and couldn't believe what he was seeing. The entire landscape had frozen beneath them. Cars stood silently on the roads, trees stayed dead still. It was as if time had stopped.

"Woah…" said Harry, under his breath.

"Bugger." Muttered John. "It's bloody true then."

"Here," said Ron. "My mum always smacks me in the ear for swearing. You'll teach us bad habits you will."

"Sorry," said John. He wasn't listening. "You two might need to help me for awhile when we get there. I don't think we'll have much choice… If we can get there at all…"

"Wait a minute…" said Ron. He pointed to a goose, suspended in mid flight, that they were racing towards. He turned the wheel slightly so as not to hit it. They stared as they flew past. It looked like someone had stuffed it and hung it on a wire.

"If everything else is frozen, why aren't we?"

"Bloody good question." John said. "I'm not sure. But I can tell you, I don't like it..."

"What's going to happen?" Asked Harry. "Will it stay like that? Can we do anything?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, mate. I haven't seen this happen in a little while. Whatever it is it's bloody strong magic."

"You've seen this happen before?" Harry looked impressed. "What happened?"

"The responsible party gained a fresh perspective, you might say. Caused no end of bloody trouble."

Ron looked completely bewildered. "What are you talking about? And I'm serious, if Dumbledore hears you swear like that, he won't be happy…"

"I don't think we'll need to worry about that at the moment, son…" John pointed, and, in the distance, hills were giving way to a large lake. On the horizon, Hogwarts suddenly appeared in sharp relief. The entire scene was frozen, just like the rest of the landscape.

"Oh… I suppose we'd better land and see what's going on." Said Ron. "You don't suppose we'll freeze up like the rest when we hit the ground do you?"

Harry reminded him about the goose, and they shrugged. Ron stepped gently on the brake, and the car descended towards the bank on the edge of the lake. It shuddered a little bit, but behaved itself mostly until they were several feet above the ground. Then, suddenly, it dropped like a stone.

The three travellers were shaken in their seats, but the impact wasn't hard enough to have broken anything. Ron's tongue had been caught between his teeth, and he had bitten it enough for a few beads of blood to dribble from his lip. "Outh! Outh!" he said, looking very annoyed. "Bloothy car."

"You alright then?" Harry asked Ron. He looked a little concerned. Ron nodded, poking his tongue out. Four little cuts on the end corresponded with his toothline. They exited the car, and dusted themselves off. John lit another silk cut, and looked to the boys. "Stick close, eh? Let's go see what's happening."

They walked slowly up the path towards Hogwarts. Nothing moved, and, when Harry cocked his ear, he could hear absolutely no sounds but the crunching of their own feet on the ground. He listened harder, and could hear John's respiration, and Ron's and his own. A slight shuffling of their clothes. That was it. Even the air was still. It was like walking in a vacuum.

A hedgehog stood beside the path, it's nose stuck in an anthill. Harry could see hundreds of ants milling there, all perfectly frozen. He shook his head. This was surreal.

"Wow! Look at that!" Ron pointed up a path to their left. A unicorn was suspended in mid air, it's front feet just off the ground, it's back feet high, as if it were about to kick something. The creature's eyes reflected pure panic.

"Maybe…" said Ron, suddenly, as if he'd just had a brilliant idea. Instead of going on, he reached into his cloak and pulled out his wand. He dashed up the path, waving the ornate stick before him.

And then, as if all this wasn't strange enough, Ron Weasley suddenly froze mid-step, his wand held high. Harry's eyes grew wide, and he pulled on John's trenchcoat urgently.

"Look! It's got Ron now!"

John stopped. He'd been concentrating on something more important, and hadn't been listening. He turned to the stricken boy, a dozen feet away, and raised an eyebrow.

"Very interesting!" he muttered, looking at Harry. "I wonder what made that happen. Harry, you want to try an experiment? 'S dangerous…"

"W- What sort of experiment did you have in mind?"

"Do you feel like going over to see what's happened to poor Ron? You can say no…"

Harry looked towards his friend. He couldn't just leave him like that. He wondered whether it was something to do with the unicorn, or if there was something else up the path that he couldn't see. Whatever it was, it was something. Ron had been fine till he ran up there.

"Maybe it was because he tried to use magic?" Harry looked impressed with himself. It had just occurred to him, and seemed feasible.

"Maybe." Said John. "I'd keep my wand in my pocket if I were you, sport."

"Ok…" said Harry. He looked nervous. He took a step towards Ron, before looking back pensively. Shrugging, he went on. Three steps, four. Nothing seemed to be happening. He reached his friend, and looked closely. Ron's mouth was open, he had clearly been halfway through a word when he had frozen.

"Geez," said Harry, to no-one in particular. "Geez…" He reached out and touched the boys lapel. Ron didn't move, or appear to know that Harry was in front of him.

Harry looked back towards John.

"I don't know why he's frozen," he said. "maybe it was the magic after all…"

"Let's see, shall we," said John. He walked slowly towards the boys. He got to within six feet, when Ron suddenly pelted forwards, straight into Harry. Both boys fell over, ending up in a tangled mess on the ground.

"I was afraid of that," Said John.

Ron, looking more confused than he'd been so far this trip, shook his head and looked around. "Afraid of what? What just happened? How did you get in front of me, Harry?"

Harry dusted himself off yet again, and stood up, disentangling himself from Ron's robes. "You were frozen."

Ron looked sceptical.

John reached them and said, "I think you'd better stick well close to me in future. I think I know why that happened."

"Why?" said Harry.

"Remember I told you I had Demon's blood?"

"Yes… How could I forget?"

"Well, it's got something to do with that. Something not very good."

"Bloody Nora…" sighed Ron. He frowned, and addressed John. "See? You are a bad influence. I knew it!"

"You don't know the half of it, mate," said John. His face was serious.

"Wait," Harry was looking at his glasses, which had been broken in the fall. He couldn't remember Hermione's spell from last year, but wasn't game to try any magic anyway. "How come I didn't freeze up? I was farther away from you than Ron…"

"Don't ask me," said John. "I'm not from around here." He dropped his cigarette and stubbed it out with his heel.

"And I don't think I'm the only one." He pointed towards Hogwarts, and started off without another word. Harry and Ron hurried to stay close to him.

If anything, the silence actually increased as they neared the gothic school grounds. Harry wondered how that could be, but then remembered something he'd once learned in music class, back with the muggles. Shepherd's tone… a constant note that seemed to increase in pitch, but actually remained the same. An illusion…

It was the sounds his body were making which were becoming more apparent to him, as if his senses were sharpening somehow. Things had taken on a more… defined tone. The trees had faint outlines, as if somone had drawn them in. The bricks in the wall seemed to stand out, as if each were vying for his attention. He got the sense they were getting close to something. Like playing the hot and cold game. He'd watched Dudley and his friends play, but hadn't been allowed himself.

Warm… warm… warmer… Hot!

John stopped suddenly, and turned to them.

"It's not in Hogwarts grounds, whatever it is…" He pointed. "Down that way. Don't make any noise."

They followed as silently as possible. The path which John trod was grown over, but even Harry could see that someone had been down here before them. There were muddy bootprints clearly visible all over. Whoever was here hadn't bothered to cover their tracks.

After a time, the path opened out onto a small glade. It had been cleared by hand; small trees lay cut in a rough circle. In the middle, the ground had been raked back to bare earth.

A fire burned in the center of the circle.

On the opposite side to them, someone was kneeling, hands together, watching them approach. Harry wondered what was wrong… it took him a short time to realise that the fire was actually moving. He could see swirls of heated air rising from the top, and he could hear the crackling of the flames.

As they entered the circle, the figure raised himself to his feet.

Harry took in a sharp breath… he hadn't expected this.

It was Draco Malfoy. He was looking at them intensely, a grim expression on his features. His usual sneer was gone. There was something very strange about him.

"Oh dear." Said John, "I do hope you know what you're doing, old mate…"

Malfoy moved his mouth, but no sound came out. He was staring straight at them, but his face remained locked.

"Too late…" John scowled. "Harry, Ron, you're about to find out why it's a bad idea to talk to demons…"

John pointed at Malfoy. "Don't go near him. Look," he pointed to the blond boy's feet. He was standing in a rough circle that had been marked in some sort of white powder. A five pointed star intersected with the circle, and two larger circles encompassed the entire affair. Symbols had been placed here and there, making the pentagram look somehow arcane.

"What's he doing?" asked Ron. He was frowning. This was no sort of magic that he was used to.

"He's talking to someone he shouldn't be. Unfortunately, we're about to meet him…"

The fire had begun to burn hotter, the roar of it more intense, deeper somehow. The flames darkened to deep orange, to red, purple and blue, finally turning black with an angry howl. The fire now looked like swirling anti-matter.

Slowly, the dark flames coalesced into a shape. Harry had trouble getting the shape clear in his mind. Every time he got a hold of it, it seemed to change to something different.

The shape spoke.

"As of tomorrow, your serv'tude's required. I must say your choice of demon's inspired.

It seems that what you want o'me, is small enough, so I must agree,

Prepare to have your wish boy, your soul's now Demon fired…"

John stepped forward suddenly.

"Errr, 'Scuse me mate, before you go and do that…"

The shape stopped in its tracks, turned towards them. Ron let out a small yelp and moved off to the right slightly, trying to get distance between himself and whatever it was.

Harry watched, as frightened as he'd ever been. The thing had eyes that seemed to be everywhere, staring into him. He felt an emptiness, as if everything was pointless, the vastness of the universe and the endlessness of time, and we are just tiny specks…

John shoved him, and the spell was broken.

"Don't look at him."

Harry shuddered, and did what he was told. The thing had taken his mind with just a glance…

"Well, well," said the demon mildly. "Of all the folks there's ever been, there's nair a one like Constantine…"

"At your service. Listen, I have a couple of good reasons why you shouldn't be doing this, mate."

"Oh? And what might they be, do tell, feel free…"

John casually reached into the pocket on the side of his trenchcoat, and pulled out something about the size of Harry's fist. It gleamed a dull ivory in the light, and Harry could clearly see small markings, maybe chinese or egyptian.

"This oracle bone, for one thing," John Constantine held the bone up for the demon to see. "Came into my possession some time ago. Perhaps you'd like it back…"

The demon snorted. Black smoke flew from his nostrils. "Give it to me!"

John laughed. "Not on your life, mate. Leave the boy alone, and maybe I'll consider it…"

Harry watched, totally bewildered. He didn't understand any of this. What was an oracle bone? He sure didn't know. His attention was suddenly drawn by a movement behind the fire, which had gone back to burning deep orange… Malfoy had backed slowly away. His eyes were wide with fear. Harry noticed that he'd stepped backwards. One of his heels was poking outside of the circle he'd been standing in before. Harry drew in a breath. He knew enough about this sort of stuff just from reading comics. You aren't protected outside the circle!

And… more bad news. The demon was turning back to the boy.

Before he turned, Malfoy did something strange. He jerked forwards slightly, and his foot stepped back into the circle, just in time. Harry saw a dark shape behind Malfoy.

The dark shape poked its head around Malfoys shoulder, It was Ron. He leaned towards Malfoy's head and clearly mouthed the words "Stay in the circle, dummy!". He rolled his eyes comically.

"I said there were a couple of reasons, mate. Here's the other. I know your name."

The demon actually chuckled. A hollow rasping sound.

"There's many names by which I'm known. I'm only interested in the bone…"

"Yeah, well, it is a nice piece of ivory, I must say… 'S a funny bit. 'S got a bunch of curses on it, and a name. I think you know whose."

John looked at the bone at arm's length. The demon had become very still.

"Took me a while to get it translated, mind. Not many up in Liverpool that speak fifteenth century chinese. I had to dig quite deep…"

"Give me the bone…" The demon's voice had become like stone.

"The boy…" said John.

"Your soul will one day make such a feast… The boy for now… Is released. Give me the bone, Constantine."

John chuckled. "Tell you what mate. You get it yourself."

He threw the grey/white object onto the flames. The demon looked pleased with himself, and reached down for it. As he did, the flames took hold of him, and he was sucked into them, like smoke which had drifted too close. In an instant, he had disappeared, and so had the bone.

The fire died back down. Soon, all that was left were the sobs of Draco Malfoy. His chest hitched and heaved as if he were a string puppet with a careless handler.

Harry turned to John Constantine.

"What just happened?

John pointed to Draco. "He thought it might be clever to make a deal with a demon. Their blood is very powerful stuff. It would have caused you and your school… and the rest of us, no end of trouble.

He's used an arcane spell to slow time. He knew he'd never get away with it if he tried it in real time. Your elders up there would have been able to stop that. It broke when he broke the circle before. I'd say someone's probably noticed something. If I were you, I'd get back to the train. I'll get a lift back, if you don't mind…"

"But how did you know?" said Ron.

"Ha. Good question, son. Good job there, too. If he'd stepped out, this would have turned out very different. I had a visit from a friend…"

"Who?" asked both Harry and Ron simultaneously.

"Here," said John. He handed something to Harry. Harry held it up before his eyes. It was a small leather pouch. It appeared to be empty.

"Open it, and dip your finger in, once, before bed. It'll work seven times. Use them wisely…"

"Thanks… I think," said Harry.

"What about dummy here?" asked Ron. He pointed over his shoulder to Draco, who was still gibbering and shuddering.

"I say we leave him to explain himself, eh? We'd better go."

"Before we go," said Harry… "You said you knew my mother… Will I see you again? I'd like to know about it."

John smiled. "The pouch is all you get, sport. Good luck."

He turned on his heel, waving them to follow, and they hurried back to the car. If they were lucky, they could get back before anyone noticed they weren't on the train…


	2. Chapter 2

(Author's note: All characters belong to their respective owners/publishers. They aren't mine to use, but I like them so much, I'm going to anyway. If you feel moved to review this piece, I'd be eternally grateful. Ahmeni )

The Dream Lord's Realm. Part 1. Harry.

A Harry Potter/Sandman fan fiction, and sequel to "Draco's Demon."

Harry yawned hugely, stood, and stretched. Smacking his lips slightly, he muttered to the remaining survivors of the evening that he was off to bed, waved and said, "'Night," before staggering up the stairs to the boys dormitory. It had been a very big day and he had fallen asleep in his favourite chair by the fire a couple of hours ago.

As he walked up the stairs, he remembered snatches of a dream. Snakes, and Voldemort. It seemed his dreams were always haunted by them, as if there were some mental connection, and Voldemort was giving him these dreams on purpose to terrorise him. For all he knew, it was true.

Freud probably would have said it had something to do with repressed sexuality, but Harry knew better. His dreams were often all too real, and, if he were honest with himself, his sleep patterns were becoming more and more erratic as time went on. Sleep was often thin, and Harry woke up more often than not with his heart hammering in his chest, short of breath, and clammy with vague dread.

By the time he had reached his bed, the dream had faded like vapor, and his mind had turned to more mundane pursuits.

Harry changed into his pyjamas, folding up his robes and putting them away in his chest. He was closing the lid when the small pouch caught his eye, tucked into the corner with several pairs of rolled up socks. He frowned, trying to remember where he had gotten it, but that information was indistinct and incomprehensible. It was if his brain were slipping over the surface of the memory, unable to penetrate anything inside. Flashes of someone in a trench coat, with blond hair maybe?

Harry shook his head. It wasn't important. He reached for the pouch, and looked at it curiously. He was not sure what it was for, or what it contained, if anything. He untied the drawstring slowly, and the pouch slipped open.

Harry gasped.

The memory filled his mind as if floodgates had been opened. The stranger who had hitched a ride.

He broke my wand!

Harry panicked suddenly, looking around for his wand. It was where he had left it, beside his pillow, when he had extracted it from the folds of his robe before undressing. He sighed with relief, and picked it up to examine it. It had split down the middle, and the stranger – John, his name was John – had taken it in his hands and repaired it, as if it were the easiest thing he had ever done. The wand had broken when he had attempted to use it to remove John from the car.

He looked closely, but could see no seam where the wand had split. It had been repaired so completely, it was as if it had never been broken.

As he came to this realisation, it seemed that John Constantine appeared in his mind, of his own accord, a wry grin on his face. The dishevelled blond man chuckled, and said simply, "Finally worked it out then, sport?" before disappearing.

Harry frowned, still gazing at the wand.

Illusion.

It had been an illusion. His wand had never broken at all. He smiled to himself. Crafty…

He heard Constantine's voice in his head once more.

"Clever, Harry. Be aware. Things aren't always as they seem. As above, so below."

The words faded.

Harry put his wand aside, and went back to the pouch. He remembered the conversation now. Constantine had said the pouch would work seven times, and to just dip your finger in once before bed…

Shrugging, he sat on the side of his bed and contemplated the pouch. It was a magical item, and Harry had learned to be wary of magical items. All the same, there was something very inviting about this one. It looked aged and worn, as if it had seen more than one owner. It felt empty, but upon inspection, Harry could see a small amount of what looked like fine sand at the bottom.

Well… No time like the present…

He pulled back the duvet and slipped into bed. Drawing a deep breath, he tentatively inserted his index finger, and touched the sand at the bottom.

Nothing happened.

Feeling slightly disappointed, he drew the strings together and put the pouch under the corner of his pillow. The sand had had no effect whatsoever.

He closed his eyes.

And immediately awoke, feeling refreshed. Harry got up from his bed, and walked to the window. The night's sleep had passed dreamlessly, and he had not woken thrashing and turning for the first time in months. He smiled at the morning sun. The sight of the Hogwarts grounds in the morning, from his window, always cheered him, and somehow made him feel like a naïve, excited child.

The dorm was quiet, which was unusual. Generally there would be a few boys milling about, getting ready for lessons, or just horsing around with each other. This morning it was abandoned. Ron's bed looked as if it hadn't been slept in; usually if he was up first his bed was either hastily made, or not made at all. This bed had been made by one of the house elves. Perfect hospital corners and measured spaces between the pillows.

Harry shook his head. He must have slept in. Well, it was Saturday, so that was alright. He hoped he hadn't missed breakfast.

He dressed in jeans and a grey windbreaker, thinking that he might go and see Hagrid afterwards, and he stuck his wand in his back pocket as he left for the great hall.

Strangely enough, the Gryffindor common room was also deserted. It had been thoroughly tidied. The fireplace had been cleaned and fresh logs sat on the grate, which had been polished to a dull iron shine.

Harry frowned and wondered where everyone was. There was no Quidditch game for another two weeks, and he did not remember any other scheduled event that may have emptied the common room on a Saturday morning.

The halls were also deserted. By the time Harry reached the great hall, he was certain that something terrible had happened. The whole of Hogwarts looked as if it had been tidied by busy elves, and then abandoned.

He began to panic, and hurried out of the building, through the courtyard, and down the trail to Hagrid's cabin. Since he had left the Gryffindor common room, the temperature had dropped dramatically, and it had begun to snow. Harry could see the white plume of his breath as he exhaled.

Hagrid's cabin was likewise deserted, and meticulously neat.

Harry shook his head. If this was strange before, it had suddenly taken a turn for the bizarre. Hagrid was not the type to leave things in such order.

The forest, now covered in a dusting of snow, looked forbidding as ever. Harry turned back up the path towards the castle. If he had no other choice, he would enter the forest. Before that, though, he had an idea.

He hurried back to the Gryffindor common room, and was surprised to see that the fat lady was absent from the painting that concealed the doorway. Shrugging, he muttered the password anyway, and the painting swung open.

He hurried up to his dorm, and opened his chest.

The Marauders map was under his robes where he had left it. Biting his lip, Harry tapped the map with his wand and stated "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good". The blank parchment spread with thin lines of ink, and Harry opened the map fully, looking for some sign of life.

To his surprise, two banners were clearly visible.

Harry's jaw dropped as he read the text inside them.. The first stated "Not sure who this is" and the second, closeby, was labelled "Could be anyone, really".

Chuckling, he folded the map back up and stated "mischief managed" before tapping it once more with his wand. The ink disappeared, and Harry carefully replaced the map under his robes, and locked his chest.

Whoever was here was waiting for him in Professor Dumbledore's office.

The gargoyle was stony silent. Harry thought hard for a moment and said "Licorice snaps". The gargoyle gave no sign of comprehension. Harry thought again. "Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans". Again the gargoyle sat, mute and immovable.

Harry looked pained.

"Just open up. Come on."

The gargoyle slid aside.

Harry chuckled, and walked slowly up the stairs, wondering who might be at the top to meet him. He pulled his wand from his pocket. With his luck, it'd be Voldemort himself, with Nagini or one of his death eaters.

But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he knew it was incorrect. Whoever was up here meant him no harm. He didn't know how he knew, but his instincts were keen, and he was sure.

He opened the door to Professor Dumbledore's office and walked in, his wand at his side.

John Constantine sat in Dumbledore's chair, smoking a cigarette and looking bored. He met Harry's eyes, and snorted. "About bloody time too."

Harry coughed slightly, trying not to laugh. For some reason John just cracked him up.

"Hello," sad Harry. "Fancy meeting you here…"

"Yeah, fancy that," said John, adopting his usual wry grin. "Nice to see you, sport. Allow me to introduce you to a friend of mine…" He motioned with his hand across the table to a thin, pale man, seated opposite, dressed in dark robes. His wild black hair framed his gaunt face, which was expressionless.

"Harry Potter, Morpheus, or Dream, if you prefer. Morpheus, Harry Potter."

Harry smiled feebly at the man and mumbled "Pleasure to meet you…"

Morpheus appraised Harry before answering. His eyes were completely black. It seemed that universes danced within them. Harry stood transfixed. This… whoever this was, he was not human.

"Likewise," said Morpheus. His voice was measured and soft, but deep. It carried through the room like the keen blade of a scalpel.

"Ummm," said Harry, "So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"John Constantine has chosen you. The pouch you were given is a sigil, and will summon me when used. You should thank him. I am… not usually available."

"Chosen me for what?" Harry looked at John, the question plain on his face.

"Nevermind." Said John. "Tell you later on."

Harry nodded, perplexed. He addressed Morpheus once more. "What's happening? Hogwarts is abandoned."

Morpheus steepled his index fingers and rested his chin on the tips.

"This is not Hogwarts. You inhabit my realm now. Tonight, you shall walk with John Constantine, and your questions will be answered. The concerns of mortals are beneath me, but as I have stated, I was forced to come."

John chuckled.

"Don't worry about him, Harry. He never did have a sense of humour. Thing is though, if your old mate wotzisface decides he wants to create havoc, and we all know for sure he bloody will, then _his_ realm," John gestured towards Morpheus, "will be vulnerable as well."

"I think not," said Morpheus, mildly.

"Whatever mate. You gave me the pouch, I decided how to use it. You'd best enjoy it while you're here."

Morpheus remained expressionless.

"I dislike magic in my realm."

John laughed.

"I don't think you've got much choice here mate. This is a magic school."

Morpheus glowered. "Harry Potter, I have allowed you use of limited magic here. Do not abuse it." It was clearly not a request.

"Very well," he continued, "let us begin…"

Morpheus stood, and made his way to the cupboard. He opened it, lifted the penseive from its shelf, and brought it back to the table.

John laughed again. "Oh very Shakespearean. A dream within a dream. You are a lazy bugger, aren't you."

"John Constantine has always been… somewhat unstable," said Morpheus, to Harry. "He does, however, serve a purpose." He said it as if he was apologising for John's behaviour.

John guffawed and drew deeply on his cigarette, exhaling towards Morpheus. "You'd be bloody unstable too, mate, if you'd been where I have…" John scratched his head, looking thoughtful.

"Actually, come to think of it, you have been, haven't you."

He looked at Harry and winked.

"Blimey. I wouldn't trust either of us if I were you."

"Good advice," said Harry. "But while we're here, I have to admit, I do have a question or two."

"Shoot." Said John.

"You said you knew my mother. When? How did you know her?"

"Ahem… Perhaps the next question to start with." John looked away, and coughed slightly.

Harry grunted.

"Alright. Who are you? How come you aren't connected with the wizarding world?"

"Like I told you before sport, I'm just an interested party. For some reason I always happen to be in the wrong – or the right – place, depending on your perspective. When I was your age, I didn't run around waving a bloody wand, that's for sure. I did my apprenticeship with demons… And people like 'im." He gestured towards Morpheus.

"John Constantine is a mage," said Morpheus. "His magic is… different than yours."

"Why are you getting involved then?" Harry had turned back to John. "Why not just stay out of it if you aren't connected to us? Voldemort is our problem."

"Mostly, it's because my magic is not mutually exclusive with yours. There are a bunch of dark wizards out there dabbling in things which are better left alone. That's pretty much my specialty, I'm sorry to say."

"You're saying the death eaters are doing arcane magic? Demons and stuff?"

"Think about it, Harry. Do you reckon your little mate was smart enough to summon a demon himself? He had help, and active encouragement, I'd say. If it isn't curtailed, this little trend could have some serious repercussions… for everyone."

"What do you want me to do about it?" asked Harry.

"Nothing. I'll take care of it, but I'd like you to be aware of what's going on. There may come a time when I need your help. In the meantime sport, it's your dream, and the clock's ticking. If you haven't realised yet, this opportunity is yours. You should probably try to get some insight into something relevant to yourself."

"My parents," said Harry without hesitation. "Can you tell me anything I don't know about them?"

"Better than that, mate," said John. "Morpheus, take it away…"

The pale man rose and approached Harry.

"Your wand…" he said.

Harry nodded and handed it over. In for a penny, in for a pound.

Morpheus touched the tip of the wand to his right temple, and a small stream of white mist passed into it. After a moment, he waved the wand over the pensieve and beckoned Harry forward.

"My memories hold every dream ever experienced. I have chosen two for you. Farewell, Harry Potter. Use the pouch wisely."

Morpheus stood back, bowed gently, and faded to nothing.

"He's not big on social occasions," said John. "Off you go then."

"What do I do? Said Harry. "What is that thing?"

"Ah, no doubt you'll come across one eventually. It's a penseive. It holds memories. You stick your head in it."

Harry raised his eyebrows, but didn't argue.

"Go on then," said John, "won't hurt you."

Harry looked into the bowl, which seemed to be filled with swirling mist. Looking back at John once, he lowered his head until his forehead touched the surface of the mist.

And Harry was in free flight.

The dark clouds above him seemed to draw him towards them, and as they broke against his grinning face, he felt the mad urge to just fly, keep on flying higher and higher, and never come down.

The freedom he felt at that moment was unlike any other he'd experienced; an absolute letting go of his earthly ties. It felt so good to have no responsibility…

The word clanged through his mind like a tornado warning, slowing his flight.

Responsibility… He had so much and yet – if he so desired, he could walk away from it, right now, never look back. He could simply climb higher into the heavens, and disappear into ether. His broom began to accelerate once more.

But he was the seeker.

And that alone spoke volumes about him. He played on a team – was perhaps the most important player. He had a responsibility to his team, to his friends, to his House…

To his fiancee…

An instant of doubt crossed his mind… Lily. How he wanted her! A sudden flashback to hated english lessons, years ago, and Hamlet. A thought occurred.

To thine own self be true…

Did he really want her? Did he really want a life shared with another, when he had power at his fingertips, power that could be used to charm any woman, to sweeten any business deal… Life could be so easy with no responsibility.

Lily… Her face appeared before him, the swirling clouds had taken her form… her eyes filled with happy tears. The clouds coalesced, grew down until her arms and torso appeared in swirling, ethereal blue gray. Her arm circled her stomach, and she was smiling… smiling.

Thine own self.

And what would his soul be worth, if he were to abandon his responsibilities? What damage would he leave behind him? What love in his future, if not Lily?

James slowed, and stopped. A brief hesitation…

He turned, and dived back towards the pitch; back towards his team, and the golden snitch, back towards his friends, and his House.

Back towards his future wife, for better or for worse…

Back towards love, and a soul, truly free.

And Harry felt himself falling once more. Through the clouds, through the darkness of a chill night, through the roof and the ceiling, and into the whispered conversation of sisters… Harsh whispers.

"I'm telling mother."

"I don't care what you tell her, Petunia. It's none of your business."

"She'll make you stop seeing him. I'll make sure of it."

"You don't want to do that, Petunia."

"I'll do whatever I please. I am your older sister, and I make the rules."

"Rules were made to be broken. If I were you, I'd keep my _mouth shut_, or you just might find things going badly for you…"

"Is that a threat?" The older girl's voice had turned icy.

"It's a promise, Petunia. One I'll keep."

"You'll never amount to anything! You'll marry some… some _loser _like Severus, and you'll have a rotten life, and you'll be poor and miserable, and all your teeth will fall out, and… and…" she ran out of things to say.

"I don't know about Severus, but I'll marry _someone_, that's for sure. And he'll love me, and he'll give me babies, and I'll love him, and our lives will be perfect and _away from you_!"

"Huh! You'll probably have dozens of illegitimate children, and die of some horrible disease, and I'll have to look after them! Well I won't! Any child of yours comes near me and I'll lock him in a cupboard!"

"Any child of mine will be ten times any of yours, Petunia Evans. One day… you'll see. You're bitter, and jealous, and horrible, and I hate you. You have no love in you."

Petunia started crying…

"Don't tell mother, or I'll put something nasty in your bed…"

The dream faded, and Harry found himself back in Dumbledore's office. John was sitting with his feet up on the desk, using his cupped hand for an ashtray. He grunted, and dropped the ashes in the penseive.

"You all done then, sport?"

Harry stared at the ashes, and back to John. The man was just beyond the pale.

"Yeah… that was… I dunno, I'm gonna have to think about that. I'll tell you if we talk again."

"You can count on it. We still have some time though," John checked his watch, tapped it twice, "so if you got any more questions… Lets go for a stroll shall we?"

John led the way down the staircase, and into the halls. They walked in silence for a few moments, and then John said,

"Well, if you won't ask, I won't tell, sport. There's gotta be something you want to know about."

"I guess…" said Harry, "You didn't tell me how you knew my mother…"

"Ah, no avoiding it I suppose. Alright, your mother and I were involved… briefly… one night only sort of thing. She didn't have a boyfriend then. I wanted to be. I kind of got carried away, showing off. I showed her some magic… Never 'eard from her again."

"I'm sorry, mate," he added. "You asked…"

"Yeah." Harry smirked. "She dumped you?"

"That'll do, son. Next question." John lit a silk cut.

"Ok," said Harry. "What's all this about demons? Demon blood, all that stuff. And who was that demon Draco summoned, and how did you get rid of him? What's an oracle bone? Fifteenth century chinese? What's that about?"

John laughed, and tapped his watch again…

"Dunno if we'll have time for all that, but I'll try. Ok, firstly, demons are just that. Nasty buggers, the lot of them. One thing they really love to do is to make deals with morons who don't know any better. Some people don't put any value to their souls… fancy that.

There are ways to keep demons down though. The oracle bone… oddly enough it belonged to that demon. His name was Lao Chang Xi and he was a 15th century court executioner, who ended up getting the rough end of the stick.

The oracle bone was what was left of him. I could have destroyed it, and sent him back to where he came from, forever."

"Did you destroy it? I thought you gave it back to him…" Harry frowned.

"Yeah, I gave it back."

"Why?"

John smiled.

"You never know when you'll need a favour from a demon, son. Always think ahead."

"Where'd you get the bone? Did Morpheus give it to you?"

"Him?" John guffawed. "Nah, he wouldn't do something like that, too up 'imself. She is related to him though."

"She?"

"Yep. Don't worry, sport. You and her will cross paths, sooner or later, I guarantee it. Lovely bird… I'll tell you about it next time."

John checked his watch once more, tapped it twice.

"Time's up," he said. "You take care, Harry. I'll be seein' you…"

"Harry! Get up you lazy sod, it's Saturday, time to go practice Quidditch…"

Harry opened his eyes to see Ron, fully dressed, carrying his broom, and a satchel that smelled like it was stuffed with fried chicken legs.

"Quidditch?" Ron wasn't on the team.

"Well, you said we could get in some private practice, remember? I want to be on the team some day, maybe. Come on, Harry, you promised… Oi, what's that then?"

Ron reached and pulled the small leather pouch that was poking out slightly from under the corner of Harry's pillow.

"Ummm…" Harry said, "You probably don't remember, I didn't. Ask me after Quidditch practice, and I'll tell you about it…"


	3. Chapter 3

Draco's Demon part 3: Uncommon Treachery.

The library. Draco slowly wandered up and down the rows of shelves, occasionally stopping and fingering the spine of some dusty volume or other. He hadn't been able to get a moment alone for several days; both Crabbe and Goyle had been on his back to let them know what was going on, and Pansy Parkinson never seemed to be more than two feet from his heel.

This evening though, he had managed to slip away unnoticed. The full moon was drawing near, and he needed more information before he could try to raise the demon again. He was not at all sure he would find anything of use here at Hogwarts, but that was not what concerned him.

The heavy, leather bound book inside the satchel that he carried over his shoulder was all he would need. What he required from the library was a hole to crawl into, where he could study the text, and not be disturbed, or worse, questioned about what he was doing.

Irma Pince, the librarian, sat at her desk, regarding the few students who were actually studying tonight with a suspicious eye. She had watched Draco walk up the aisle, but as far as he could tell, she had not followed to find out where he was going.

Draco was always amazed at how stupid the people around him seemed to be. His friends trusted him because his father was richer than theirs, and they were afraid of him. Everyone else just seemed to naturally trust him. To give him the benefit of the doubt that he wasn't up to no good.

Draco sniggered to himself.

If they only knew what went through his mind.

Finally, he reached the stairs leading to the lower level. Glancing furtively around, he quietly made his way down, and slipped into a space between shelves where it was unlikely anyone would come across him. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he used his wand for light, and slipped the book from his satchel.

The cover was old, the leather wrinkled and cracked. It was darkly stained, and the title was barely legible. Even so, it was clear that it had been hand-written, as were the pages of vellum within. Deep red ink… Draco had been informed that this particular copy – one of only six in existence – had been written in human blood.

Draco thought about that as he opened the volume, and began to pore through the pages. Sketches of corpses and winged monsters were interspersed with strange, arcane symbols. Someone had died, probably more than one person, for this text to be written. Draco was not sure how he felt about that, but it did not matter.

What mattered was power. People died the world over, every day, because someone else had power over them. This was a fact of life. His father had drummed it into his head often enough. The weak are crushed. The strong survive. Weakness will be rewarded only with suffering and death.

The only way to be strong was to have power, or at least access to power. That much was obvious to Draco. He wondered why so few people got it. So many of them seemed to choose not to get it. To trust blindly.

Draco smiled to himself. It was easy to be smart, for him, where it seemed that others struggled. It didn't matter why they thought like that. So long as they kept thinking like that. It would make his rise to power all the easier.

The last time, he had been sure it would work.

But something had gone wrong. Draco had no idea what. The demon had spoken to him, and it seemed that he had accepted Draco's offer. What was his soul, anyway? He was a Malfoy. His soul had never belonged to him, not in any real sense. He didn't even believe such things existed. It was easier that way.

But the demon had disappeared. Draco had found himself on his knees, tears streaming down his face. He had felt empty and abandoned as he stared blankly at the embers of the fire in front of him. The moment he had stepped into the circle, the spell had thrummed through his mind and body, and he knew that he had done it right. What he didn't understand was why the demon did not keep his part of the bargain. Draco was morally sure his soul was intact. He hadn't felt any different, after the shock had worn off.

But he was no closer to the power he craved.

Draco stopped at a double page that had been bordered across both to make a single text area. This was the marked page, and contained the incantations, rituals and ingredients necessary to summon a demon.

Draco fingered the text, muttering under his breath. He had been told, if he got anything wrong, that the consequences would be dire – probably fatal – to himself. Though he had done this before, he needed to be absolutely sure of what to do. He had it in his mind already, and was surprised to find an incantation out of sequence… That was why he needed this. If he did that during the ritual, he wouldn't survive the experience, more than likely.

A whispered voice – two – approached. Draco snuffed his wand and hid silently in the shadows, listening. If someone was looking for him, he didn't really stand much chance. He hastily closed the volume and packed it into the satchel, hiding it behind a stack of books on the lowest shelf near him. He could make an excuse easily enough, and come back for the book later…

No, the book was too rare to leave. He'd have to hope they didn't find him. He almost sighed with relief when they walked past his aisle, and turned down the next. They stopped, roughly opposite him, with a row of shelves between. He could see their feet as they hunched down to whisper.

Draco held his breath. If he could hear them clearly, they could hear him.

"So what do we have to come down here for, anyway?"

"I don't want anyone to hear. And I'm only telling you because you were there…"

"Where? What are you talking about, Harry?"

Draco stiffened. It was Potter and his gnome, Weasley. This should be good…

Potter replied.

"Do you remember, back at the beginning of last year… We missed the train…" Potter's voice.

"Sure," said the gnome. "We got here eventually…"

"We got here twice."

Now Draco's ears had pricked up. That day was burned into his memory. His mentor and friend had impersonated him on the train, using polyjuice potion. Draco had come to Hogwarts early, and had hidden in the forest, planning to summon a demon, and offer his soul for the power it could provide him.

Potter spoke again.

"We picked up a hitchhiker, his name was John. John Constantine…"

"Hitchhiker?"

Draco's eyebrows raised in wonder. John Constantine. His father had talked about John Constantine. His mentor and friend had warned him of that name.

Weasley spoke again.

"Nope, don't have a clue what you're on about, Harry. Never 'eard of him. You sure you haven't gone mental or something?"

Draco peered through the shelves. He could see the lower halves of the Gryffindor boys, whilst remaining hidden. They'd have to get their heads down close to the floor to see him, and he didn't think it very likely.

"Look at this…" It was Potter again.

Draco watched as Harry drew something from his pocket. It was a small leather pouch.

"John gave it to me. He said it had seven uses. I completely forgot about it, and about him, for a year! He was a mage, Ron. He did something, made us forget about what happened. Do you remember yet?"

Weasley spoke, and a chill traveled up Draco's spine.

"Draco? It was something to do with that rat… What happened again?"

"Yeah. Draco. He tried to raise a demon. He succeeded. John somehow managed to get rid of it… But you saved Draco. He stepped out of the circle, and you pushed him back in…"

"Why would I do that?"

Draco grimaced. He'd make the gnome pay for that.

Potter chuckled. "Dunno."

"So what's the pouch for then?"

Potter answered. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. I used it last night… You dip your finger in before bed, and… well. It's definitely an experience. I say it's your turn tonight. I'd be interested in comparing mine with yours…"

Draco saw that Harry had put the pouch on the floor, between him and Ron. A flash of inspiration… He drew his wand and whispered a spell, as silently as he could.

_Accio Pouch!_

He grinned as the pouch flew into his open palm. He really was getting very good at this. They didn't notice, they were still too busy talking.

Draco slipped his shoes off, put them under his arm with his satchel, and crept out of the aisle before Potter and Weasley noticed their precious pouch was gone. The hardest thing was not cackling with laughter on his way out. At the top of the stairs, he slipped his shoes back on, chose a book from the shelf at random, and took it to the counter.

Madam Pince raised an eyebrow, and looked at Draco appraisingly, a small smile turning the corners of her mouth. Draco looked at the book and groaned inwardly.

"Love potions for the desperate; A step-by-step guide to Surreptitious Administration." By Gilderoy Lockhart.

He scowled, and said "It's for Goyle. He asked me to get it for him."

"Goyle." Said Madam Pince. "Well, if Mr. Goyle loses it, you'll be liable, Mr. Malfoy. Just as long as you're aware."

"Just sign it out please," Said Draco, looking annoyed. He left the library before Potter and his gnome even knew he was there.

Draco went back to the Slytherin common room, and took a chair close to the fire. Crabbe immediately spotted him and sauntered over.

"Where have you been, Draco? We couldn't find you…"

Draco looked patient, but pained. Crabbe wasn't the sharpest of tools, but he was a good man in a fight. Instead of responding with a dire insult, Draco just shrugged.

"I was in the library. Homework."

"Oh." Said Crabbe.

Crabbe wondered why Draco hadn't done his homework in the common room. He didn't press the question though. It was as though Draco already expected him to know the answer, so he pretended that he did and nodded conspiratorially. "Ok then."

Crabbe seemed to not know what to do. There were no chairs nearby, but he had not yet been dismissed. After a few moments, he started to take a step away, thinking maybe Draco had forgotten about him, when Draco looked up, and said,

"Crabbe, have you ever heard of someone called John Constantine?"

Crabbe frowned. This was not the sort of question he usually expected from Draco. He pondered. Why would Draco ask such a question? Why, when Draco usually only asked questions about things that he was sure Crabbe knew about. Crabbe pondered the question some more, but it bothered him that he had been singled out to answer this question. What if it was important? And what if he didn't know? Perhaps he would let Draco down by not knowing. Crabbe decided that he'd know. He opened his mouth to answer, but found himself stumbling. He couldn't remember the question.

"What?" He asked, trying to buy some time.

Draco looked annoyed.

"Never mind." He said.

Draco stood up, and announced,

"I'm going to bed. Big day tomorrow."

Crabbe nodded and agreed. Every day was a big day for Crabbe. Tomorrow he had potions, and that always exhausted him. So did transfiguration, and defence against the dark arts. It was a big day indeed.

"Righto," he said. "'Night then, Draco."

Draco couldn't help smiling to himself. He liked Crabbe – though he could not say why.

"'Night, Crabbe."

Draco left the common room, and dressed for bed. He hid the volume that he had taken to the library earlier in his chest, along with the library book he had borrowed. Next time he did something like that, he'd check the title first. Surreptitious Administration indeed…

Climbing into his four poster bed, and drawing the curtains, Draco used his wand for light and studied the small pouch before him. It was unremarkable, aged looking, and apparently empty. Draco opened the drawstrings and looked inside. All he could see were some grains of sand, or dust. He shrugged. It was probably nothing.

He thought about the conversation between Potter and Weasley. Potter had said something about it working seven times. And he had gotten it from John Constantine, on the day that Draco had summoned a demon…

Constantine. Draco would have to find out more about him. Could it have had something to do with him, Constantine, and Potter? Did they somehow stop the demon? Draco didn't know for sure, but he had heard Weasley say his name. They were there. Weasley had apparently saved him. Why hadn't they said anything? He remembered the beginning of the conversation he had heard. Weasley couldn't remember… Potter mentioned not remembering, too. Maybe that was why.

But Potter remembered now. And Weasley was on his way.

Draco wished he could remember anything before he woke up in front of the embers. But it was all a blank. He remembered walking to the clearing, and widening it a bit… He remembered making the pentangle, and using the powdered herbs his mentor and friend had procured for him. He remembered the incantations… And then he remembered the terrifying, huge demon. He had been warned of their power, but the book gave instructions on limited control, and Draco thought he had the upper hand… The demon agreed… And then he remembered weeping and feeling dreadful. Nothing more.

Constantine. He must have come, with Potter and Weasley, while Draco was talking to the demon. And somehow, he had banished the demon. Draco wished that he knew how.

Draco looked at the pouch.

"_You dip your finger in once before bed…_"

He nodded to himself. Alright then. It was wise to know what the enemy was thinking. He opened the pouch and dipped his finger inside, once, before drawing the strings closed. It didn't seem to have any effect. Draco shrugged and hid the pouch under his pillow. He'd investigate tomorrow.

He closed his eyes…

Draco awoke, suddenly. Something had startled him from his dreamless sleep. It was dark, and he could hear breathing. He sat up, and drew the curtain aside, but it was pitch black beyond.

"Who's there?" he asked. He felt for his wand. It was under his pillow where he'd left it.

"_Lumos_," he said. The tip of his wand glowed, and illuminated the room beyond. Something was wrong. This was not the Slytherin common room. Looking around, and blinking with sleep, he made out the familiar shapes and layout of his own bedroom, in Malfoy Manor.

"_Shut that light off!_"

The voice had come from the left. He turned his wand towards it, and his mentor and friend, Dirkegaard, one of the house elves, appeared briefly. His face was a mask of impatience, and he extinguished the light with a wave of his hand.

"No magic, Draco Malfoy. No speaking. We is in trouble here."

"What's going on?" whispered Draco, harshly. "What am I doing back here? I was in Hogwar…" Draco tried to say more, but it appeared he had been silenced by the elf.

A second or two later, a match – the muggle kind that they used to light fires with – flared over by Draco's dressing table. Dirkegaard used the match to light a candle in a brass holder. He carried it with him, and approached Draco once more.

"Get up, Draco Malfoy, and dress yourself."

Draco saw pants and shirt neatly folded at the foot of his bed. He got up quickly and dressed, wishing that he could speak, or at least that Dirkegaard would say something that might explain their predicament.

He walked to his dressing table and took a writing tablet from the top drawer, which had a quill attached. He wrote hastily on the top sheet;

Why are we in trouble? What's going on?

Dirkegaard chuckled weakly.

"Dirkegaard cannot read. Draco Malfoy wastes his time asking questions about what's going on."

Draco gritted his teeth in frustration.

He gestured to the elf, swinging his arms in an effort to make Dirkegaard understand that he required information.

Dirkegaard watched Draco with a mixture of amusement and disdain.

"Follow. Make no sound." Was all he would say, in a soft whisper. Draco shook his head, but followed as silently as he could as Dirkegaard made his way out of the bedroom door, and into the hall.

Draco frowned as he looked around. The hallway was unfamiliar to him. It looked similar to his own hallway on the second floor, but this one was decorated very differently, and was dusty and full of cobwebs. The house elves always kept everything spotless. Draco blew the dust from the top of a row of books on the shelf, and immediately regretted it. He drew back, unable to avoid the explosive sneeze that began to build in his sinuses. Before it could come, he doubled over in pain.

Dirkegaard had punched him in the stomach.

He spluttered, but silently – the silencing spell was still in effect, but he did not sneeze.

"No noise." Mouthed the elf.

Draco nodded. He was not having a good time. Looking around again, something occurred to him.

He tapped Dirkegaard on the shoulder. In sign, as clear as he could make it, he put his head on his hands, palms together, and closed his eyes. Then he pointed at himself.

Am I asleep? Am I dreaming this?

Dirkegaard smiled. His crooked teeth glinted in the candlelight. He nodded, before adding his own sign. He pointed at Draco, and at himself, and made motions with his fingers indicating running fast, then he pointed over the balcony to the vestibule hallway, beyond which was the front door.

He added a finger to his lips to reinforce the message, and nodded, to be sure Draco understood. Draco nodded. He'd get some answers once they were outside.

Dirkegaard carefully made his way down the stairs. The manor was silent, and the staircase was as dusty as the hall had been. Draco wondered, if this was a dream, why anything like using magic mattered. In all the dreams he had ever had, nothing like that had ever occurred to him. Usually though, he wasn't so intensely aware that he was dreaming.

When they reached the front door, he would try some magic, just to satisfy his curiosity. Draco wondered who they might disturb. There had to be a reason Dirkegaard was acting like this. They reached the front parlor without incident. The elf looked back at Draco once and winked slyly, to indicate 'so far, so good…'

Draco had begun to relax somewhat by the time they reached the vestibule. It was dark outside, and cold. Snow had built up on the corners of the windows, and Draco could see flakes blowing wildly. He was not dressed for a dark, cold night. Several coats and jackets hung on the vestibule wall, along with sturdy boots under a bench beneath. Draco stopped and dressed more thoroughly, while Dirkegaard waited. Once Draco was ready, Dirkegaard snuffed the candle, and pulled the front door open.

Draco stopped dead. Dirkegaard yelped.

A figure stood in the doorway. Tall, pale, and dressed in dark robes, his wild black hair fluttered in the wind. His eyes were as black as the night that surrounded him, as black as his robes. His face reflected grim resolve.

"You have summoned me falsely. The sigil was not yours to command. Leave my realm, Draco Malfoy, and never return."

The figure pointed a slender finger at Draco, ran it down his forehead gently.

Draco shuddered. It felt as if a worm had just crawled into his mind.

"You are no longer welcome here. Begone."

The cloaked figure waved his arm, and Draco fell into blackness.

He was awoken by pain in his shins and ankles. He sat up quickly, wondering what was wrong.

Dirkegaard sat on his legs, a dire look on his face.

"The use of magical items is dangerous, Draco Malfoy. Give me the pouch."

Draco frowned. "What?" he said.

Dirkegaard leapt at Draco, and slapped his face hard.

"The pouch. You have made a grave, grave error Draco Malfoy. My master must be informed. He will require the pouch."

Draco shook his head, his cheek stinging from the slap.

"Ok, ok, don't get excited.." Draco reached under his pillow and fished out the pouch. He threw it to Dirkegaard.

"Tell no-one of this, Draco Malfoy. Our plans still hold, but we is waiting, yes, until the next moon. Do not use unknown magical items without first consulting Dirkegaard. Does Draco Malfoy understand?"

"Of course I understand, do I look stupid?"

"Not look. Act."

"I understand, alright? Get off my case."

"Does Draco Malfoy understand where he was? What he did?"

"I suppose you know something about it?"

"The Dream Lord's realm is nowhere to be caught trespassing. One requires an invite. Draco Malfoy was not invited. Draco Malfoy will not dream again, unless the Dream Lord can be persuaded otherwise."

Draco sat back, contemplating what his mentor and friend had just said. He shook his head.

"It was just a dream!"

"No. Draco Malfoy trespassed into the Dream Lord's realm. Beware. Sleep may not come easy for some time. Perhaps the master will know what to do…"

Dirkegaard apparated, and the slight 'pop', as the air filled the vacuum he had created, resounded in Draco's ears, and set them ringing.

He hated being an inexperienced wizard. He wondered about the implications of his trespass, but soon stopped himself short. It wasn't worth worrying about. Draco had never really liked dreaming, anyway.

He had a goal, and achieving that goal would bring him all the power he ever needed. He might lose his soul, and his dreams.

But these were just little things. Nothing to be concerned about.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco's Demon chapter 4: Geminio.

Harry and Ron sat opposite each other in the great hall. Breakfast was delicious, as usual. Ron's plate was heaped with rashers of bacon, scrambled eggs, buttered mushrooms, grilled tomato, and toast.

He was carefully building a giant sandwich, and appeared to be hovering between the choice of a layer of tomato, or another of bacon. He screwed up his face, wondering whether it would make any difference if the second layer of tomato was above or below the third layer of bacon.

"Ron," said Harry, amusement in his eyes, "You'll be killing your taste buds with the first mouthful. Trust me, the order isn't important."

"Not true, Harry." Ron was smiling. "I don't think you're taking attention to detail into account. Subtle variations can cause a startling difference in the finished product, you know."

"Where'd you hear that one?"

"Hermione."

"Figures," said Harry. "I don't think she was talking about your stomach though."

"I'll take my chances," said Ron, amiably, "Anyway, I need my sustenance… All this sneaking around late at night is robbing me of sleep, and I have to make up the energy somehow."

Harry smiled conspiratorially.

"You did great last night, thanks for helping…"

Ron chuckled. "Draco won't know if he's coming or going now. I wonder if he's noticed yet?"

"Noticed what?" said Hermione. She had come up behind Ron, and sat next to him. Harry smiled in greeting.

Hermione frowned. "Harry, you look like you haven't slept… So do you Ron. Obviously you're both up to something. Feel like sharing?"

Harry and Ron glanced at each other.

"Us?" said Ron, "Up to something?"

Hermione gave them both the evil eye. Harry spoke.

"It's nothing Hermione, we were just wondering whether ummm, Hagrid had noticed it was a nice day outside. We thought we might visit later, and help him in the garden."

"Help in the garden, you two. Right… Hmmm ok. You do know Hagrid's been away all week, and what's Draco got to do with it?"

"Oh? Has he?" said Ron. "I suppose that's that then. I was looking forward to some weeding, too. Oh well, maybe when he gets back, eh, Harry… Oh Draco? Nothing… nothing…"

"Yeah, I suppose. Bit of a shame really. What's this about Draco?"

Their conversation was interrupted suddenly by Draco Malfoy, who had come upon them unnoticed. He slapped his palm on the table in front of Harry, making his breakfast plate rattle. The sharp report immediately drew their attention.

"Potter," he said. "You've gone too far this time. I want it back, by tonight. You'll be sorry you ever met me…"

"I have been for some time, Malfoy. You want what back? I don't know what you're talking about." Harry stared Draco down.

Ron's eyes were bulging. He looked like a trapped animal. Harry warned him with a glance to stay out of it.

Hermione was sitting back, watching the proceedings with a raised eyebrow, her arms crossed. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but held her tongue.

"Get out of here Malfoy. I haven't got anything of yours." Harry was almost snarling.

Draco's face reflected both frustration and rage. It was all Harry could do to keep his hand away from his wand.

"I want the book, tonight, or there'll be consequences. The gloves are off, Potter. Eleven'o'clock. The Owlery."

Draco glared at Harry briefly, turned, and left.

Hermione tapped her foot softly after Draco's footsteps faded.

"Ok. Ron, Harry. Let's have it then…"

The boys shared a look of pained resignation, and Ron began to speak.

"He nicked our pouch… Harry wanted to follow him, to see what he was up to. We went down to the archives, and stood in the aisle next to where he'd hidden. It wasn't hard to find him, he was well lit up. We made some noise after we spotted him. We talked about what we'd seen, and mentioned his name…"

Hermione was still tapping her foot. "I have questions now."

Ron decided not to go on. He looked at Harry pleadingly.

"Don't bother asking," said Harry. "I'll fill in the gaps. The pouch… well, that's a story in itself… Ron and I got it as sort of a reward for helping someone once. It's magical. I'll explain later. Draco… It seems Draco Malfoy has been up to no good. He has a house elf. I'm not sure if there's anyone else involved, but they've been playing with… strong magic."

Harry leaned forward, and said in a whisper,

"Draco has a book. It has incantations, and it's old, and looks hand-written… In blood… I think he's using it to raise demons. Well, I know he is. Ron and I saw him do it. Anyway. We followed him into the archives, and turned the conversation towards him, and what we'd seen. I'd been showing Ron the pouch. Malfoy is pretty sly. He _accio_'d it and scarpered. We followed him out. He borrowed a book, but there was already one in his bag, you could see it. Ron and I decided to use the cloak and go get the pouch back. We waited for a Slytherin to say the password, and got in after everyone had gone to bed. The pouch was under Draco's pillow…

Believe it or not, I didn't waste my time in the library. I found a spell that came in very handy… it makes a reproduction of any item, though I've only been able to do small things so far." Harry grinned. Hermione had looked, for an instant, impressed.

"Geminio." She said.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Bloody know-it-all."

"Yes." Said Harry. "We found the pouch, it wasn't hard. But it looked like Draco had used it. Anyway, I copied it, and we left him with the copy. Before we left, though… I wanted to know what he'd been doing in the library. I broke into his chest… He didn't even have it hexed. Too confident…" Harry shook his head. "But then he doesn't know I have the cloak. I found the book at the bottom. I copied it… The copy was blank inside, but looked ok at a glance, so we left him that one.

The house elf apparated in just before we were about to leave. We had to stand in a corner till he left… He was pretty annoyed,"

"No." Said Hermione. "You can't apparate within Hogwarts grounds. You still haven't read your History of Hogwarts."

Harry looked at Ron, and shrugged. Ron said,

"That's why we have you. So we don't have to read it… Well, he just appeared, and then, after going mental at Draco for awhile, he took the pouch and just… disappeared. It looked like he disapparated to me."

"Maybe not." Said Harry. "He could have had a disillusionment charm on himself, or a cloak. Who knows? He got away with the fake pouch. I wouldn't be surprised if Voldemort had it now…"

Ron and Hermione winced as if Harry had suddenly said something vulgar.

"I suppose," said Hermione. "What does the pouch do? And who gave it to you?"

"His name's John. And the pouch is… well, it's a sigil. It's a gateway to the realm of dreams. The guy in charge there – total goth – he's called Morpheus. It's good for seven uses. I've used it once, and Draco's used it once. So five uses left."

"What happened when you used it?"

"I… learned something about my parents."

"What?"

"They were human beings. They had flaws, serious ones. But they were just humans, like all of us."

"Can I see the pouch? Do you have it here?"

Harry nodded, and reached into his back pocket. He pulled the pouch out by its drawstring and handed it to Hermione. Hermione looked at it closely, and pulled it open. The pouch disintegrated between her fingers. Fine specks of brown dust remained briefly, before fading to nothing.

"Uh oh..." Said Ron.

Harry looked at Ron in disbelief.

"I told you it was the one on the left! You put the wrong pouch back!.. Uh oh is right…"

"What are we going to do now?" Ron looked positively horrified.

"The book." Said Hermione. "It's the only bargaining chip you've got. Whatever you do, don't give it back to Malfoy. There's still a lot of gaps. How did you come to find out Draco was involving himself with Demons? Who's John, How did you meet him, and why haven't you mentioned him before?.." She seemed to run out of breath.

Harry sighed, and told her about their encounter with John Constantine. He detailed their side excursion with him, and their intervention upon Draco's summoning, before relating his encounter with the penseive, in the realm of dreams. Hermione listened intently, nodding and raising her eyebrows at the more unbelievable parts of the story.

"As if you don't have enough to worry about…" She said. "Still… I'd like to see that book."

Harry nodded, and they left the great hall, after waiting for Ron to finish the last of his monumental sandwich. The portraits greeted them as they passed, and they politely replied, as if they were on their way somewhere to enjoy themselves. As they began to ascend towards the seventh floor, and the Gryffindor common room, a figure could be seen. He was vague in the distance, his back to the wall, one leg raised against it in a laconic, somehow suspicious pose.

On approaching, they saw that it was none other than Draco Malfoy. He was glaring at them as they drew closer, one side of his lip curled in a sneer.

"I don't know how you got in there, Potter, but it was definitely you. You're behind everything that goes wrong. I'm going to put a stop to your meddling, once and for all. Eleven'o'clock, _Potter._" He spat the name.

Draco pushed himself away from the wall, and turned to face the three of them. They stood a few yards distant.

Harry reached into his pocket, and held out his wand before him. Draco mirrored the gesture. Both boys scowled, and raised their wands, about to hex each other. Hermione was reaching out towards Harry, and screaming, "No! Don't be stupid, both of you! You'll get caught…"

"Keep it to yourself, Granger. My father knows all about you, and your muggle parents. One of these days…"

"Heh, yes… One of these days…" It was an older voice. All four of them looked around, to see none other than Argus Filch, trailed by his cat, Mrs. Norris. She hissed at them, noncommitaly Harry thought, and sat down on her haunches.

She glared at them all briefly, and began licking herself, dismissing them to her master's ire.

"Hello there, children. Yes. Trouble. You are all in it. To my office, the four of you, now. Wands away, or I'll have them destroyed."

"You can't do that!" cried Draco. "My father will have you out of here and peddling trinkets in Diagon Alley before the sun goes down, I'll see to that…"

Filch grinned. His face broke into a terrifying rictus that deflated Draco's bravado like a pin to a balloon. He strode forward and grabbed the boy by his left ear, twisting it painfully.

"Not before you report to my office, immediately. Here, I'll show you the way. You three, follow, and any funny business will be… uh… _severely _dealt with." He was clearly having the time of his life. No teacher had yet appeared to save them, and Filch seemed to understand that he had limited time before one showed up.

He led Draco by the ear back down several flights of stairs, along a corridor, and down more stairs. Once they heard a teacher in the distance, but the voice faded, moving away.

Draco was snarling and his cheeks were bright red by the time Filch shut the door to his office, and locked it behind him. The four of them were lined up at his desk, looking disgruntled. This meant detention for sure. Or flogging.

Ron winced as the image flitted through his imagination. Filch had often expressed a desire to dish out more lavish punishments than were currently allowed by the Hogwarts code, and it was easy to believe he might indulge in some of them if he thought he could get away with it.

Mrs. Norris sat on his desk, cleaning behind her ears and occasionally scowling in their direction.

Harry nudged Ron's ribs, hard enough to hurt.

"What?" said Ron, looking wounded.

"Shhh." Said Harry. He pointed to Filch's desk.

There, in the centre of his writing blotter, the pouch lay. Hermione gasped. She could see that it was identical to the pouch that had earlier crumbled through her fingers.

All four of them stared at the pouch, and at each other. Before any of them could react, Filch was standing before them. His hands were behind his back.

"Now," He drawled. "Which one of you is the most likely to crumble under pressure, let me see…" He looked slowly at the four of them – Draco on the left, Hermione, Ron and Harry on the right. His eyes settled back on Ron.

"Weasley," he sneered. "You'll tell me what I want to know." He produced a small wooden contraption from behind his back, and held it close, so Ron could see it clearly.

Hermione gasped. "Thumbscrews?" she asked. "You're going to use thumbscrews? I don't think that's a legal punishment here, Mr Filch. I think Professor McGonagall would have something to say about that. Perhaps detention instead?" She raised the last syllable, as if making a friendly suggestion.

"No. I'll use the thumbscrews thanks. Weasley. Present thumbs."

Ron yelped.

At that moment, a loud knock came from the bolted door. Filch looked annoyed, and called, "I'm busy. Come back later."

Professor McGonagall's voice replied clearly.

"Argus. I'd like those four students uninjured, if you please. Now open this door before I blast it open, and have you repair it by hand…"

Filch snorted, defeated. He walked to the door and let the Gryffindor House leader in. She looked down at the contraption in his hands, and looked at his face with a disappointed, almost pained expression.

"Really Argus. I do wish you'd keep your instruments of torture locked away. I can't imagine what would happen if anyone thought you'd been threatening students with them, well…"

"Heh." Filch looked anything but amused. "Just cleaning it when these four came to visit, I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing Professor…"

"Of course not." Minerva McGonagall smiled warmly. "Please remember that there are eyes and ears everywhere. Come, children."

Harry and Ron had been looking at each other. Both had the same inclination, to grab the pouch while Filch was distracted with the teacher. But the opportunity passed too quickly. They were being marched out, and the Dream Lord's sigil remained where it was.

The four of them looked at each other as they walked slowly out of Filch's office. All knew what the others were thinking. How did the pouch come to be on Filch's desk? But no-one spoke. Harry only scowled at Draco, who looked away.

Argus Filch sat his desk, muttering to himself and nervously screwing and unscrewing the wooden device he had nearly been caught torturing students with. Damned paintings. Snitches the lot of them. If Filch had his way, he'd paint over them all and be done with it. But the sad truth was, Argus Filch rarely had his way.

He snarled at the medieval device as he caught the knuckle of his index finger in it, and tightened it by mistake. He let out a yelp and freed himself, cursing under his breath.

He put the thumbscrews down on his blotter, and stared at them for a moment. One day they'd be sure to come in handy. One day…

His gaze wandered to the mysterious leather pouch.

It had been a very strange encounter last night that had left him shaken. Mrs Norris had flung herself from the room, and Filch had immediately smelled shenanigans. Someone was up to no good, and he followed as hastily as his age and general health allowed. Just outside his office door, he had bumped into something… And suddenly he had been lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. Mrs Norris was licking his nose. He had a headache, as if someone had whacked him on the skull with a frying pan.

He raised himself, looking around warily, but no-one seemed to be there. As he stood, he noticed he had been lying on a small leather pouch. He frowned, for he was sure it did not belong to him, but, there it was. He picked it up.

Finders keepers.

Filch picked up the pouch, and examined it. It was unremarkable. A small piece of string was tied in a simple knot to keep it closed. It felt empty. Filch was immediately disappointed. A few sickles would have been nice, at least.

He untied the knot and opened it, and stared inside, but he couldn't see anything of value. A little dusty maybe. He tipped the pouch upside down, but the dust must have been stuck to the bottom, because nothing fell out.

Filch held the pouch up to his eye and grunted. He poked his finger in to try and stir it up, before turning it over again, but still the dust refused to leave the pouch. Filch nodded, and spoke to it.

"Alright then, have it your way. I'll find a use for you somewhere…"

He drew the string back together and tied it in a knot. He put it on a shelf behind his desk, and immediately forgot about it.

Filch poured himself a glass of sherry, and sat back, thinking of the injustice of it all. If they'd only let him have his way, he'd be able to take a firm hand, and none of the little troublemakers would get out of line. He'd be doing the school a favour. The number of times he had approached Dumbledore with suggestions, and been rebuffed… well it was enough to drive any honest man to drink.

He poured himself another sherry, and muttered to his cat about what he'd like to do if he could only get some authority. His sentences became grunts, and before very long, his eyes slipped closed.

And Argus Filch awoke. It was a bright, lovely morning.

A man, pale and wan, stood before him, smiling benignly.

"Welcome, Argus. My sigil was found by you, and now I must bow to your request. I await your pleasure."

"Request?" Said Filch. "I… where am I?" He looked around himself. There was no sign of his office. He was in a bed, and sunlight was streaming in through the window. Looking up, he recognised the room. It was the headmasters suite.

The pale man looked thoughtful for a moment.

"No. This is a chance meeting. I shall, instead, give you a gift." He walked a pace forward, and touched Filch's forehead.

"Make of it what you will."

He faded, like smoke blown by a slow breeze, and Filch got out of bed. He walked from the room, wondering how he had ended up here.

Hogwarts had been highly polished overnight, it seemed. Every surface gleamed.

A Ravenclaw girl walked past him, smiling.

"Good morning, Headmaster," she said politely.

"What's this?" Filch stopped, and stared at the girl. "Headmaster? Who do you think you're talking to? Cheeky won't get you far with me young lady…"

"I'm… I'm sorry Sir!" she stammered and backed away.

"Eh, get to class." He turned on his heel and walked down to his office, many floors below. Students smiled as they passed, and said good morning. He glowered at them, and hurried along. His office was a safe haven, and right now, he felt anything but safe. He was not used to children being nice to him.

He reached the ground floor, but before he could make it to his door, a voice called from behind him.

"Oh, there you are Headmaster…"

Filch turned with an angry expression, ready to bite.

Professor Sprout looked slightly alarmed. "There there, headmaster, are you feeling unwell today?"

"Sprout? What do you want?"

"Well, I was hoping we could discuss the seventh years, and their trip to the amazon later this month…"

"I'm busy. Later…"

He let himself into his office, and closed the door behind him, breathing a sigh of relief. The world had gone mad overnight.

His comparative comfort was shattered as he walked towards his desk. Professor Severus Snape was sitting at it, his feet up. He was dressed in dirty black pants, and a leather jerkin over a stained shirt. His teeth were deep yellow as he smiled guiltily.

"Headmaster… To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Snape? You as well?" He shook his head. Something was definitely not right.

"Professor Filch, I solemnly swear that I wasn't involved, whatever it was, it wasn't me."

Filch, looking vaguely confused, nodded.

Snape, seeming to remember who he was talking to, dropped his feet from the desk and sat up, trying to look as if maybe, once, he had been busy.

"I'll get to that leaking tap today. I don't have magic like all of you, you know, it takes me time to get things fixed. I said I'd do it and I will… Is that all you wanted, headmaster?"

"Good, good," said Filch, nodding. He was beginning to enjoy this.

"Make sure you do." He turned and walked back out of his – Snape's, - office.

Across the hall, Minerva McGonagall waved to him brightly, smiling.

"Headmaster, may I see you for a moment?" She walked over.

"I need to see you in my office, right away…" She smiled and winked, and Filch, now expecting the unexpected, followed.

Once there, she closed the door behind them, and immediately rushed to his arms.

"Argus, oh Argus… You're so dashing dear. I couldn't resist… Kiss me…"

Filch looked shocked, and froze in her grip. He had no idea what to do or say…

Minerva laughed lightly, and released him. "Just kidding dear, really, you shouldn't be so dark. This place," she gestured around her, " is here for you to see some light, for a change. Come with me and stop being such a squib. It's time you had some fun, Professor Filch, and some respect."

She smiled, and it was a genuine smile, that only close friends reserve for one another, and came and took his arm, and walked with him out into the Hogwarts grounds. A fair had been erected in the courtyard, with juggling clowns, and sideshows, and penny toss games. They played and laughed and ate cotton candy, and he found himself lighter than he had ever felt, as if he could float away.

Students smiled and thanked him, for no reason other than they liked and respected him, and Filch found himself undergoing an interior transformation, of sorts. It wasn't so much that he was headmaster… It was more because he was being viewed as someone who had earned respect, and he understood, finally. It was possible to earn respect, To rise above your station. Filch liked the feeling.

He turned to Minerva, who was looking at her pocketwatch, wanting to say something, to acknowledge this simple truth.

"Oh dear, she said… Nearly time Professor… Anything I can do for you before you go?"

Filch smiled warmly at his close friend. He bent and kissed her softly on the lips.

"Yes." He grinned. "But the kiss will have to do."

"Goodnight, Professor Filch," she smiled in return. "Thank you for a lovely day."

She squeezed his hand briefly, and turned away. Filch left the fairgrounds, and awoke, a wide grin on his face. The bottle of sherry, half empty, was lonely next to its glass. Mrs Norris purred, curled on the corner of the desk.

Filch picked up the bottle, and stoppered it. He smiled to himself.

Not half empty, Half full.

He nodded.

Half full.


End file.
